


Intoxicated

by YoungSoon



Category: History (Band)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Graphic Description, Light Angst, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7711705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungSoon/pseuds/YoungSoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breakups have never been a pleasant thing, but when the person you love not only breaks your heart, but robs you as well, it's clear that very little can help you heal. Sometimes the basic intoxication - alcohol and nicotine running through one's veins - can help, but sometimes another human being - another living person of flesh and blood is the aphrodisiac stronger and more effective than anything. For Kyungil, this escape, this miracle takes form of Yijeong -  a roughed up boy, who becomes essential after just one night. </p>
<p>Inspired by the amazing imagery of "What Am I to You" by History (난 너한테 뭐야)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intoxicated

There’s another refill, transparent liquid which smells like burned rubber and tastes around the same, burning Kyungil’s tongue whenever he downs a shot, filling the glass. It’s gone near the same second the rim of the bottle leaves the edge of the glass. His lips wrap around the slim glass and he throws his head back, letting the fire liquid gush down his throat. The grey hood he had on his head falls back and he winces when the glass leaves his mouth.

He trusts his hands enough to put the glass back on the table and waves his hand for another refill. The same hand goes through his ash blond, near grey hair ruffling the messy bangs before falling lifelessly on the counter, serving as a pillow for his chin. With glazed eyes he observes how the liquid fills the glass again to the very edge. He smirks, a small laugh going past his lips. This was a strange metaphor of him - he was so full of everything from joy to sadness until someone gulped him empty. 

Kyungil’s hand goes through the pocket of his leather jacket fishing out a half empty box of cigarettes. How long ago did he open it? Two hours or three? It didn’t really matter as he pulled another of the white nicotine sticks from it placing it between his lips. The taste was revolting - bitter and ink-like, the combination with the alcohol making it only worse, but that was exactly the kind of taste, the kind of aftermath in him for months. It was a part of him now.

He was either here - shabby, poorly lit and poisonously green, red and blue bar in downtown alley, his once luxurious apartment which now looked like a party place for weeks straight or stuffing down junk food on the sidewalk. He let out his anger in a gym every afternoon, as he woke up not earlier than noon and then came here, leaving with the break of dawn barely standing on his own two feet. He had no idea what was going on his company or how soon they would cut his cards down. He didn’t care. He had been robbed once, he would be fine when everything that was left would be taken as well, now wouldn’t he?

Finally Kyungil’s hand locates the lighter and he flips the metal cap open, a small flame igniting and illuminating his face for a second while red sparks appeared at the tip of his cigarette. He inhales deeply and lets a puff of smoke out before reaching or the glass and downing yet another shot. People slowly start to flow in - average scum from the neighborhood, already intoxicated males and females that not just rarely try to leech off ‘the handsome man at the bar’. 

Kyungil scowls at a couple of barely dressed girls already whispering and eyeing the seats next to him. Unlucky for them they were a body part away from being his type. It was always amusing to see them try tho. They already begin to approach the bar when the door opens again and rather small figure stumbles in. It saunters towards the bar and climbs on of the chairs next to Kyungil. 

It’s a young male - his deep black, slightly curly hair in a mess; his lip split and from the looks just barely stopped bleeding, the left corner swollen and red; a huge red and purple mark above his right eye looked nasty as well, to say the least. His shaky hands on the counter have no bruises tho. So he hadn’t fought back. 

Something about him mesmerizes Kyungil and he stares for a good minute before the bartender asks if he will have another refill. It’s his job to ask even though he knows the answer will always be ‘yes’. He nods and signals for another glass. It appears before him, filled to the rim and he pushes it towards the man next to him. Two doe eyes look down at the glass before they look up at Kyungil. He might already be drunk, definitely not sober, but if not the painful sadness in those eyes, they would be breathtakingly beautiful. They still were in a very tormented way.

“Rough night?” he asks as he lets another puff of smoke in the air and shakes the ash from the cigarette down in a busted ashtray. There’s a laugh from the man, his lips curling in a pained smirk making him to wince a little in pain. He probably had a nice smile when it was genuine and happy. 

“If only it would be just this night,” he replays in voice soft, yet deep and downs the shot, wincing again as the alcohol hits his split open lip. “One night I could handle,” he murmurs, swirling the empty glass in his slim fingers.

Kyungil already sees the eager bartender lurking around with the bottle of liquid liberating venom in it and eases the process: “Make sure our glasses are not empty until we leave.” He instruct shortly and crushes the little that was left of the cigarette in the ashtray. The glasses fill up again, the man next to him looks at Kyungil with puzzled gaze.

“I think I can relate to that a little bit too much,” he explains and raises his glass. The raven hair does the same, small click between the two glass containers disappearing in the booming music and people occupying the small dancing space. They both down the transparent liquid, the glasses landing on the counter and filling before their eyes. 

Kyungil reaches for the cigarettes again, putting one between his lips before he turns to the male next to him. “Do you smoke?” he asks and observes how he bespoken one downs another shot, his neck arching back a little, his tongue darting out to lick the remains of the burning liquor from his lips, skimming over the bruise just slightly.

“Sometimes,” the man replies and Kyungil moves the pack closer to him. His hands shake a little bit, Kyungil can notice, as he takes a cigarette and places it between his full lips. Kyungil flicks the lighter open, and lights the man’s cigarette first. The flame illuminates his face - his half shut eyes, focused on the dancing flame, allowing shadow from his long lashes brush over his bruised cheeks. He backs away when sparkles dance in the tobacco and Kyungil withdraws his hand to light his own.

As if enchanted he watches how the man takes a deep breath before blowing the smoke out with a relieved sigh. Yes, one rough night didn’t make one enjoy the bitter stick of death so much. Kyungil knew from his personal experience too well.

“I’m Kyungil, by the way,” he finally introduces himself and reaches his hand above the counter again.

“Yijeong,” the raven haired replies, his hand settling in Kyungil’s for a moment. It’s seems miniature, petite in comparison, delicate even with the white skin in contrast to Kyungil’s caramel tone. But the handshake is not weak - it’s firm and strong, his delicate looking hands rough and obviously strengthened by manual labor. So why didn’t he fight back when attacked? 

They pull their hands apart after a moment too long and each down another shot. Kyungil slows down, he had enough before, but it doesn’t look like Yijeong is considering stopping. The glass doesn’t stay on the table for longer than few second for good half hour, while Kyungil lifts his only a few times. Now he just observes.

Yijeong’s cheeks have flushed pink, his hands no longer shake and the breathtaking sadness is gone from his eyes, creeping at the back only when you look very closely. He starts to mumble almost adorably. Something about a bastard he hates, but the need for another shot stops most sentences half way through. Kyungil does the same, he knows. He curses out the person who deceived him, who robbed him literally and figuratively. 

“Ouh. I like this song,” Yijeong says out of a sudden when an unrecognizable track begins to play and stumbles out of his seat. He blends into the dancing few, yet stays at the edge and Kyungil can still see him and shamelessly appreciate the view. His body moves with the odd rhythm and forced melody and it looks like he has let himself loose for first time in eternity. 

Kyungil observes him, casually lighting the last cigarette after downing a shot, and follows him with this eyes as he stumbles off the dance floor to the bar. Yijeong empties his glass with a satisfied sigh afterwards and turns to Kyungil. He reaches over before taking the nicotine stick from his lips and placing it between his. His chest rises in a deep breath as he inhales, a puff of smoke escaping in the alcohol, cigarette, cheap perfume and sweat filled air. Playfully he places the cigarette back where he took it from - between Kyungil’s lips - and grins as if challenging the fair haired one. He saunters back to the dance floor and Kyungil crushes the cigarette in the ashtray before standing up as well.

He finds the good ten centimeter shorter male in the crowd and his hands automatically settle on his hips. As if that was an open invitation Yijeong moves closer, his body near completely flush against Kyungil’s, grinding against him. It’s frustrating, it’s teasing and Kyungil is no near sober enough, well, he is not sober at all to handle it. 

His one hand goes to the back of Yijeong’s head, fingers tangling in his black locks as he makes the teasing man look up at him. Their eyes lock for no more than a second before Kyungil presses his lips against Yijeong’s. There’s a small yelp, the fresh bruise reminding of himself and Kyungil wants to pull back, but Yijeong has already wrapped his arms around Kyungil’s shoulders, keeping the taller one down. 

Their bodies continue to move against each other, their lips locked in a dirty kiss - tongues and teeth involved more than lips. They're both hungry, done with everything around them and desperate for something neither of them can name. With Kyungil’s lead they stumble off the dance floor, barely avoiding running into the counter. Everything it suddenly rushed, everything is on fire and Kyungil fishes his wallet out of his pocked, throwing bills on the table before half dragging Yijeong out.

The moment they get into a cab Yijeong is in Kyungil’s lap. His hands are all over Kyungil’s torso - going over his chest , shoulders and neck as much as the clothing allowed. The latter has hands settled on the shorter one’s hips as he impatiently thrusts against the man on top of him, who shamelessly rotates his hips down. He moans into Kyungil’s mouth, his hands gripping on his shirt, and the taller one returns a low growl like moan before grabbing other’s ass, pulling him even closer.

Somewhere halfway, the metallic scent and taste of blood invades Kyungil’s senses. The nasty cut on Yijeong’s lip is probably bleeding again, but neither of them cares. Something primeval kicks in, the scent of a blood, mixing with liquor and tobacco, swirls around the backseat of the taxi, heat rising and their hands sneak around zippers and buttons. 

They barely make it and stumble out of the taxi, Yijeong still all over Kyungil, his hand finally finding it’s way under the tank top, while the taller pays the appalled and shocked driver. As soon as the bills leave his hand he attacks Yijeong’s lips again and pushes him towards the door. They stagger up two flights of stairs, each area between them giving space for bodies to collide with each other and the nearest wall. 

When the doors falls shut behind them with a bang, it's a salvation for their desperately hungry selves. Jackets are gone from their shoulder first, hands focusing on zippers of their pants as they twirl through the apartment, knocking something down on their way to the bedroom. Shirts land on the floor somewhere mid way from the living room to bedroom, pants being kicked off in the path from the door to bed.

Yijeong’s back collides with the mess of blankets on the mattress with a small exhale and Kyungil crawls on top of him with no second thoughts. Their eyes meet and even though every fiber of Kyungil is burning, lusting for the man he had met counted hours earlier, the look in his eyes make him stop. The sadness, the fear is back, overpowering the primal need for another human’s body. He’s shaking slightly and Kyungil let’s his eyes to wander over Yijeong’s naked torso.

Fresh and already older bruises cover a frame he otherwise would call perfect. Yijeong is not skinny, he is not weak or soft, yet he allows others to lash out at him. He let's them to beat him to a pulp without even fighting back. And then Kyungil understands. That’s how he copes. That’s how he gets rid of the memories of the bastard that threw him away.

The pain, the physical feeling of a fist landing in his stomach was like alcohol and nicotine for Kyungil. Even know Yijeong awaits to be destroyed by Kyungil in the way he needed it, in the way that probably kept him together. He wanted to be torn to pieces so his heart would mend itself together at least a little bit.

Kyungil looks back at Yijeong’s face. He can’t. He can't do what was so obviously the short one’s aim, but at the same time he feels an in-explainable, intoxicating ache for this relative stranger and he feels the same radiating from him. Another way. He can do it another way. He can prove that something heals better than pain - pure, intoxicating pleasure.

Unlike the rush before Kyungil leans down, pressing his lips gently against Yijeong’s. He softly threads his fingers through the black locks, fingers of his other hand tenderly running over Yijeong’s bruised side. There’s a shiver running through Yijeong from nothing more but their lips moving together and Kyungil now knows for sure it’s the right way. He let’s his body to move closer, their body heat mixing, and for the first time in the evening he savors the taste, the scent of Yijeong. It’s vague, barely there between liquor, cigarettes, blood and sweat, but it’s there and he focuses on it.

He let’s out a sigh in the kiss more prolonged, more passionate than the play of dominance before, when Yijeong’s hands finally move to his shoulders. Kyungil hums low in his throat before breaking the kiss and looking into shorter one’s half lidded eyes, engraving his panting and flushed face in his memory. Almost too affectionately he smooths away hair from Yijeong’s face, placing a kiss on his cheek below the now full purple bruise.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers and there’s a small nod in return. It’s almost like Yijeong doesn’t believe it, like he still expects for Kyungil to brutally fuck him into the mattress. His eyes wonder around, his breathing shallow and rapid in his chest and Kyungil cups his cheeks in his hands. “Do forgive my old drunk romantic sap of self,” he says with a smile before crawling higher in the bed, his long arms going for the drawer of the nightstand.

There’s a hesitant press of lips against his chest, fingers shyly moving over his abdomen, redrawing the lines of muscles. “I don’t mind,” comes a small whisper and Kyungil finally returns to eye level with Yijeong. He kisses the man again, his retrieved items from the drawer on the mattress next to them. He wants to savor this, to savor Yijeong. He doesn’t know why, but he want’s the man under him more than alcohol and nicotine. He just wants to be intoxicated by something else for once, something, someone that hopefully won’t hurt him, won’t use at least once.

Kyungil traces his lips across Yijeong’s chest and stomach, his hands going over his sides and thighs. His senses heighten for the faint scent that is Yijeong himself, for the feeling of his skin where fists have not bruised it, where it’s truly him. He instinctively searches for something he can’t be sure even exists, but the more small moans spill from Yijeong’s lips, the more his body responds, the erections still clad in the thin fabric of other’s briefs twitching whenever Kyungil moves closer to it, the more he believes he’s on the right path.

He hooks his fingers under the edge of the last piece of garment keeping him away from Yijeong and pulls them off. A soft gasp escapes Yijeong’s bruised lips. Even in the dim light of the room, nothing more but street lamps behind the window illuminating the room, even with bruises of various ages blooming on his skin, there was something exhilarating about Yijeong. Something in the way he looked at Kyungil, something in the way he reached his hands out to pull the taller closer for a kiss, something in the way his body arched into Kyungil’s. There simply was something about all this, beyond the alcohol enhanced imagination and mirages created by cigarette smoke.

Kyungil unwillingly breaks the kiss, and moves of the smaller man, stripping himself naked before returning. A kiss is near immediately demanded and he doesn’t deny it. He let’s his hand to find the items he had dropped on the bed before, opening the tube of lubricant and getting some on his hand before tossing it aside. Meticulously he coats his fingers before settling himself between slightly spread legs. His fingers find his hole easily, covering it with the glossy substance. His lips serve as a distraction as he moves his fingers in one by one, stretching his lover of the night slowly.

The taller’s other hand finds Yijeong’s trembling length around the moment his third finger breaks in and the smaller male arches both into his hand and falls back onto his fingers. He claws onto Kyungil’s shoulders, moaning shamelessly into his mouth, yet more wantonly than in the taxi. He tries to thrust in Kyungil’s arm and rotate his hips down on the fingers that keep on working him open and an almost adorable whine breaks loose when he fails. It’s painfully obvious he can’t take no more foreplay and Kyungil knows it as he can’t take it either.

It takes under a minute for him to rip the condom pack open, put it on, whilst Yijeong observed him with with hungry eyes. He felt the rush, the adrenaline kick in him again, the very basic urges of a living creature clouding his mind harder than alcohol had ever, the unique scent of the man awaiting him filling his nostrils like venom spread by air. 

It felt like had held back for years, his own body trembling as he slowly pushes himself in the tight heat of Yijeong’s body. He is pulled deeper, engulfed and swallowed to the point he barely can keep his eyes open, focusing on the shorter male’s pleasure and pain twisted face. The latter’s fingers dig into Kyungil’s upper arms, definitely bruising, whilst the taller grips on Yijeong’s thighs in the same manner, their bodies as close together as possible.

He begins to move slowly - pulling out and pushing in again - his own body screaming to move faster, to take all he could from this incredible sensation. He had promised to go slow, but he is afraid he can’t keep his promise. Kyungil gradually speeds up, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the room along with heavy breathing and wanton moaning. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the temperature in the room remind of a sauna and in mere minutes, just mere minutes, all control is about to slip out the window and get swallowed by the swelling dawn.

Kyungil lets go of Yijeong’s thighs he had an iron grip on, letting his body hover above Yijeong, his forearms resting next to the smaller male's head. He captures the abused lips in a kiss, gluttony swallowing each moan, each whimper. His hips move faster, more forcefully and Yijeong does all he can to push back, crying out when ever he succeeds, his sweet spot being hit head on.

The taller male rises up, his hands now gripping behind Yijeong’s knees, near lifting his lower back from the bed and bending him in half as he began to hit the latter’s prostate with each thrust. His ears are in bliss from Yijeong’s moans, borderlining screams; his eyes are blessed with the sweaty, messy visual and his nose basks in the scent that was so faint before but now is dominant. He was more drunk than even before. Absolutely tipsy and lost in Yijeong.

The breaking point comes in seconds. Yijeong cannot take the pleasure anymore, his body giving up and coming in long strips of white between them. His whole being climaxes with a scream, tightening around Kyungil and pulling him along, leaving him breathless for a second. For a whole minute not even breathing could be heard, the time itself stopping at that point.

Kyungil finally moves slipping out of the absolutely exhausted man below him. He half assedly throws the condom away before his strength leaves him and he collapses next to Yijeong. By instinct he collects the smaller, heavy breathing male in his embrace, yet doesn’t speak a word. Both of them stays quiet, limbs naturally tangled together, a blanket kind of covering them. 

What can they say? Kyungil doesn’t trust his mouth anyway. His heart is too strong, too good in taking control and now he knows it was not the case to let it speak out. He hugs Yijeong closer, who in return doesn’t shy away from the offered embrace. Rather than that he hides in it - his head resting against Kyungil’s chest. 

Their breathing barely stop racing when Yijeong’s lips press against Kyungil’s skin and trace up his chest, neck and jawline until he reaches the blonds lips. He nibbles playfully and gently on the tanned man’s lower lip before full on kissing him for the nth time and allowing his mouth to be invaded by Kyungil’s tongue. However he doesn’t allow to be dominated. He pushes Kyungil flat on his back and pulls away from the kiss, straddling the taller one’s lower waist.

He’s a mess - his skin is still glossy from sweat, his lips now swollen both from kisses and the purple bruise. His hair is all over the place, covering the bump Kyungil has not forgotten about. His naked body is barely illuminated, bruises hiding in the shadows, but something about his eyes seem absolutely alive.

Yijeong leans down, his lips pressing against Kyungil’s skin again, his fingers dancing over his sides and abdomen. He leaves small bites and licks across Kyungil’s chest and shoulders whilst his hands memorize each line of muscles. Skillfully he moves his body back just a little, his ass rubbing against Kyungil’s already half hard cock and he begins to push back at it, sensually rotating his hips.

“Yijeong…” Kyungil let’s out in half growl, his fingers grabbing onto Yijeong’s black mane, gently pulling him up and attacking his lips directly with his own. The smaller male continues to move his lower half, not hiding his own rising erection. The kiss is a slop, saliva dripping from their lips as they rub against each other desperately, moans and mewls filling the air above all. 

Both of their patience runs thin and it’s not even a minute later when Yijeong sinks down on Kyungil’s length, letting out shameless wail of pleasure. His mouth hangs open, hands gripping on Kyungil’s waist, as he begins to move up and down, wantonly bouncing in the tanned man’s lap, who in return thrust up as well as he can.

Kyungil’s mind is as cloudy as after half a bottle of absinthe, vision swaying and senses dulled yet heightened at the same time. He sees, he hears, he feels only Yijeong and he can swear he is as drunk as ever on that alone. He’s being pulled and swallowed up, teased and squeezed by the intoxicating body above him and it’s beyond any aphrodisiac he had ever experienced.

With growl the blond sits up, his lips straight attacking Yijeong’s arched back neck and he feels each moan vibrating through the raven hair’s throat throb through his lips. It was like taking ten shots at once, his body at the point of needing more, at the of blindly going for more.

His hands grab onto Yijeong’s ass, helping the exhausted male to move before sneaking between their bodies. The moment his long fingers wrap around other’s cock it doesn’t take more than few pumps for both of them to cum again. There’s a soundless scream coming from Yijeong’s lips and Kyungil bites on his shoulder to keep his own voice down. 

They fall back down on the soiled sheets, still entangled and breathing racing in their lungs, hearts speeding. Yet takes no longer than 10 minutes before Yijeong is on his fours, head pressed into the pillows, his butt in the air and spread open for Kyungil’s visual enjoyment of seeing himself disappearing in the still incredibly tight body of his lover of the night. He’s beyond drunk, beyond gone to even fully register what’s going on and how close the dawn is behind the window. He’s literally high on Yijeong and how his name sinfully falls from those lips along with pleads for more. The sound hits him harder than a glass of Jagermeister and he near howls when he comes for the third time, Yijeong shaking in ecstasy below him.

The exhaustion finally wins them over completely and Kyungil doesn’t even bother to cover them up as he gathers the panting male in his embrace again. As if it’s a natural Yijeong moves closer, hiding against the sturdy chest again. Everything around them is in a white buzz, air vibrating in a hangover from the obscene sounds that had echoed around the walls. But somehow it feels right, it feels content and perfect in an oddly intimate way.

Only when their starts to get chilly, their bodies cooling down does Kyungil pull a blanket over himself and seemingly asleep Yijeong. He allows his own upcoming hangover and exhaustion to win over and his eyes to fall shut. That probably is his biggest regret in the morning as he wakes up alone. His arms are empty, the male he was holding so close gone.

Slowly Kyungil sits up, running his hand through his hair. “Yijeong?” he calls out once, waiting for a response. He listens carefully for shower running or rustling in the kitchen but there’s nothing. He looks around the room, noticing how everything is in it’s place, if random locations in the room could be called like that, apart from Yijeong’s clothes. So he was gone.

Kyungil doesn’t even doubt that Yijeong is in no way like the previous man who had been in this bed and one morning was gone with all the expensive watches, jewelry, bank cards and anything else he could carry away from Kyungil’s life. The only thing Yijeong had taken with him this morning was, ridiculously, a piece of Kyungil himself.

The latter gets up, pulling his boxers on before staggering around the room and then moving to the living room. There is no note with a phone number, not a single sign on why and where Yijeong had gone to. He was not obliged to stay, to interact with Kyungil, but here the blond is now, thinking on what he could have done to have the short male still here in the morning. 

He lights a cigarette from a pack laying on the kitchen counter before taking a ‘hangover beer’ from the fridge. If he could handle the bitter taste of tar and nicotine, then the beer made him sick. The taste gives no satisfaction, no relief to his pounding hangover and attempt to down it one go almost makes him throw up. It wasn’t a hangover from alcohol he was experiencing. 

It wasn’t the liquor that made him want for more to ease his body. It was the scent, the taste, the presence of Yijeong and for that he knew no cure.

 

For weeks Kyungil aimlessly sits in the same place he had sat for months, looking down in the abyss of a shot glass, but not being able to feel the needed satisfaction at all. He fills himself with strongest liquors he can find, barely making it into his own house before falling on the floor unconscious. The smoke cloud around his head is thicker than those of a storm and yet nothing brings him the intoxicating tipsiness he now needs. 

The bitterness he related to, the bitterness that was a part of him is no longer what can make his head spin and the world to disappear. It no longer makes him drunk. This isn’t the scent, the taste, the feeling that can make him soar. In one night he had discovered something much more powerful than absinthe and more addictive than nicotine. Yet he now has no idea where that something, that someone is. 

He’s at the bar again, hours passing on the clock like wind and yet not more than 5 shots has he poured pass his lips. Anxiously and hopefully he waits when the doors of the bar open, his head shooting up in hope to see the same frame sauntering in. Ridiculously morbid thoughts cross his mind not just once and more than anything he regrets knowing just his name. A phone number could do so much, a last name, work place - anything could be of help to know at least as much if he is ok or he is someone’s punching bag again. Was Kyungil deceived? Did he feel that something else but physical pain could make one forget?

With disgust Kyungil downs a shot and frowns, waving a refill away. He is about to call it a night, or rather an early morning as he aimlessly had sat in his place for hours, waiting for a miracle or an epiphany but none of those had happened. He takes a few bills from his wallet and leaves them on the counter, already heading to the door when they open and a miracle finally walks in.

Yijeong is dripping wet, it's probably raning outside, his lip split again at the same spot where it hadn’t healed that well yet, his one eye is bloodshot and a huge bump is above it. There’s some sort of relief in his eyes when he sees Kyungil whilst the taller holds himself back from pulling the other close. 

“Can…. can we go… to your place?” Yijeong asks first thing and Kyungil nods even before the question is finished. His hands get clammy and he resists from taking Yijeong’s hand in his like he did when they first left the green lit walls. They walk out in the drizzling rain and flag down a taxi - Yijeong silently walking behind Kyungil, not saying a word. This time there’s a different type of tension in the air - both of them wanting to say something, to do something but not being sure where to begin. At least Kyungil doesn’t know where to start and how to say things the best.

They arrive in silence and walk up the stairs with one step separating them, unlike last time when they were inseparable, glued together even from their lips to hands exploring options of getting under fabrics. Only when the doors close something is broken and as soon as Kyungil turns to Yijeong, the latter moves closer and rests his head against Kyungil’s shoulder. He hides his face in the crook of taller one’s neck, his wet hair tingling other’s skin. His hands hesitantly go around Kyungil’s waist and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Why does this feel better? Why does this feel right?” he asks in a whisper and Kyungil dares to wrap his arms around the small frame. “Why doesn’t it hurt when I’m here?” he asks, his breath hitting Kyungil’s skin and this time it’s the later who shivers. He feels the warmth alcohol used to spread in his veins oozing slowly through him. He doesn’t know the answer to any of those questions, but he just knows it was mutual - it feels somehow right on a level of a romantic melodrama. 

“I don’t know. It just does,” he replies and holds Yijeong as close as he can, letting all the malicious thoughts to melt away. He knows so incredibly little about the man he is holding now, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling none less than content in this moment. He threads his fingers through the damp black locks and rest his cheek against the top of Yijeong’s head, letting their body heats to mix, their breathing to sync, only then he moves.

Kyungil gently pulls Yijeong away from him and cups his cheeks to take a better look at the fresh bruises. They’re a bit worse than before, but he hopes they will be the last one’s attempting to ruin the beautiful face before him. Yijeong’s hands settle on his and only now he notices the bruised and raw knuckles. This time he had fought back.

“Let’s fix you up a little,” Kyungil says softly as he takes Yijeong’s hands in his, inspecting the damaged skin. He guides him to the kitchen counter, motioning him to sit on it while he fishes out a first aid kid from a cupboard. He doesn't have much in it. All pills are long gone from it, but ointments and bandages still seem to be intact. 

“You cleaned up,” Yijeong says looking down at Kyungil disinfecting his hands. The latter just nods while he applies ointment and bandages. He had broken a flower pot or two during this period of time in pure rage at himself and that finally made him tidy up. The more he thinks the more he realizes things that had changed. All he had needed for this change was the man whose hands he was bandaging now.

He moves on to Yijeong’s face, treating it twice as gently, yet avoiding looking in the doe eyes or else he would lose his concentration. The urge to hold him, to let the intoxicating feeling to swirl around them again is strong, but he sticks through it. He meets Yijeong’s gaze only when he’s done and finally he can’t keep his calm and collected facade on anymore.

“Come here,” he says in half whisper and Yijeong literally dives into his embrace as he had waited for this as well. His legs wrap around Kyungil’s lower waist and arms securely hooks around his shoulders. Kyungil grabs at his thighs with one hand and holds his back with other, deeply inhaling Yijeong’s scent which is mixed with the remains of the rain in his hair.

He carries the smaller male to the bedroom and gently lays him down on the covers, hovering above him. Kyungil hesitates a little before gently pressing his lips against Yijeong’s, this time being sober enough to be aware of the bruise. However Yijeong pulls him closer, moaning softly into the kiss. For the first time it’s Yijeong’s hands that rest on Kyungil’s cheeks, his fingers that thread through his hair and Kyungil leans into the touch as if this was the touch he had longed after for ages.

They don’t speak and know nothing more about each other's names and that they were terribly hurt once as they lay in each other’s arms, sharing small kisses. For now, they don’t need more. Just for a little bit they don’t need anything more.

“Please, stay in the morning,” Kyungil pleads as he threads his fingers through Yijeong’s hair, the latter hiding against Kyungil’s chest again. It seemed like his favorite hideout even tho they met only for the second time tonight.

“What if I stay… and don’t want to leave ever again?” Yijeong asks, his fingers tracing patterns on Kyungil’s sides under his shirt absentmindedly.  
“Then stay,” comes as simple answer. It hadn’t had to be said out loud but this - each other - might have been their long searched answer for curing pain and being whole, being happy again.


End file.
